He's Not Being Funny
by algie888
Summary: This was it. This was his end. To die a poor, broken man. An unloved man.


**Title: He's Not Being Funny  
>Rating: K+, because, well, he's dying<br>Summary: This was it. This was his end. To die a poor, broken man. An unloved man.  
>AN: Allan has always been my favourite character. This is the death, not the one I wanted him to have, but the death he did have. **

****Allan could feel the tears fighting to break out, stinging his eyes and making him clench his lip between his teeth. They were his friends. They were his family.

They bound him. Tied him. Like he was an animal, like he was an enemy. He had loved them all! And was this what they did to him? There was not one night that he didn't sit there, praying for forgiveness. Not one moment he didn't regret what he did. Not one. But he thought they trusted him now. He'd give his life for them, and very nearly had countless times. All those years he had pushed himself into Robin's way, taking the arrow. Or that time when he nearly bled to death to save Much from a dagger if Djaq had not healed him.

But that was all conveniently forgotten, wasn't it?

They just did as they pleased. They didn't care. Allan was a third wheel to everything. Everything.

He was hurt. He was angry. He wished he were dead. He wished they were dead.

He pushed back the bracken, ignoring the thorns that dug into his side, slicing down the dead barks that blocked his path. Damn them. Damn him. Damn the sheriff. Was he never to be forgiven? Ever? Was this an endless circle that he'd be caught in - betrayal, forgivenes, betrayal, forgiveness? Because he didn't care for it. He didn't like this at all. Weaker men would have left the gang years ago. Weaker men would have sold out his friends about everything. Allan was not weak. He was brave. He did what none of them dared to do.

The thundering of hooves woke him from his monologue, bringing him back to the world of harsh light and broken friendships. Allan dove into the leaves, not daring to draw his dagger, lest the sunlight fall upon i- where was his dagger? Allan cursed, remembering that it had dropped into a bed of thorns - and he, in his insolence, was too angry to fetch it out again. Allan swore again, and clamped his hand over his mouth in shock. He heard a rider get off a horse, and he hardly dared to breathe. Footsteps.

Fight, or flight?

Allan ran, tripping over roots, diving through curtains of spiderweb and lichen, his breath coming out in pants. Time for the hunter to become the prey. Swords against wood - they had the upper hand, cutting down obstructions in their path. Allan could only push boughs aside with sore and bloody hands, his running growing labourous.

A path! Allan scampered, muttering a quiet Hail Mary as he regained his footing, glad to be out of his prison of briars. Now, if only he could reach Nottingham. He had to warn his fr- he had to warn the gang. A smile flickered over his features as he thought of the looks on their faces. He was a member of Robin Hood. We always get out alive.

The whistle of an arrow was ignored. The pain it wrought, however, was not. The steel tip embedded itself into Allan's knee, and he gasped for breath, staggering. His eyesight seemed to go red for a moment, but he persevered. The gang. He need to tell his fr- he needed to tell them. They needed to know.

Another in his back.

Allan choked back a sob. He was Allan A' Dale. He wasn't about to go down crying like a lost child. He was a fighter. A soldier - better yet, he was from Rochdale! He would go down fighting. Allan tried to steady his feet, swallowing thickly.

Another.

Allan went down, his head connecting harshly with the mossy floors, dead leaves swirling around. The forest was dying with him. His blue eyes lolled, and widened when he saw his hunter.

"Ah. A' Dale. Surprised to see me?" The Sheriff didn't bother to wait for an answer. "I don't suppose you are."

Allan chuckled quietly, choking back the blood that frothed to his lips. "Vaisey," he acknowledged, and frowned. "I'm not being funny, but you're not gettin' away with this."

The Sheriff pulled a mocking face, "Oh, A' Dale," he breathed, leaning down to Allan. "I already have."

Allan reared his head, using the last of his energy to spit on the Sheriff's face. Vaisey reeled back, swiping the red saliva off his face with disgust.

"Kill him," he said flippantly, as though remarking on the weather.

Allan breathed in, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as the guards advanced. "We are Robin Hood!" he yelled, forcing back the tears.

"You know you're not," the Sheriff taunted. "They left you, in the forest, to die."

Who was he kidding? He wasn't one of the gang. They had said that themselves. He was a castaway. They had tied him up. Like an animal. Like a slave.

But, maybe, for just his last moments, he could pretend. He could pretend that he had been his father's favourite son. He could die thinking that his mother actually loved him. That Eppie Marley was going to marry him next Spring, like they had planned with hushed giggles. He would leave this world thinking that he actually had friends.  
>He would leave loved.<p>

Allan fixed the guard with a smile, "We are Robin Hood," he stated, calmly. Collected. Without fear.

The first stab was painful. The second stab was agony. The third stab was numbing.

Allan continued to stare at the Sheriff - look what you're doing, because it doesn't hurt me. Robin will win. You'll see - and still smiled. "We are Robin Hood."

And with the fourth stab comes bliss.****


End file.
